


And I Said, I Don’t Even Like Toaster Strudel!

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Ableism, Blind Character, Blindness, Boarding School, Demon, Demon Tyler Joseph, Epileptic Brendon, Jon is blind, M/M, Panic Attacks, Racism, Ryan has Tourette’s, Seizures, Slurs, Tourette’s Syndrome, blind, demon tyler, highschool, lowercase intended
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 03:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17820701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A boarding school for behavioral and special needs. The two are kept apart, mostly. Josh, a self-diagnosed “badass” with a chronic panic disorder is thrown in a room with an annoying epileptic as a roommate, who keeps on talking about a brother in a cult. Honestly, could his life suck anymore?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first fic i’ve written that i’m making public. i thought ‘what the hell’. so... what the hell. i doubt anyone will read this, the tags sound like a hell hole, but i digress. also, any proof-reading will be done when/if i get the entire story done.

chapter 1

“what the fuck?!”

“joshua!”

“don’t call me joshua!”

the room is now silent, full of red faces with racing minds and lungs. the scene is simple, from right to left: two parents on a couch. a flipped over coffee table. a seething teenage boy with a bleeding finger. an abandoned chair.

his father, the less dominant figure in the conversation, sets to setting the coffee table right-side up. the boy glares at him, trying aggressively to burn holes through his head.

the mother sighs. “i knew this would happen. this is why. josh, this is why,” she looks down to her hands, as if she were trying not to cry.

josh scoffs. “don’t- stop that. you’re- it’s- it’s bullshit. you are full of shit. don’t pretend to be sad. if you were sad, you wouldn’t fucking send me away,”

the father takes back his seat on the couch. “son, with your- your condition, we think this course of education would benefit you best. but your recent attitude is what finalized our decision. we cannot have you running around like... like this,”

josh takes a shuddering breath, making eye contact with his father. “like what?” he says, voice low, as if threatening him. however his father, like most adults, does not feel threatened by sixteen year olds, and the malice is deflected as if a fish were thrown at a brick wall.

“you know what,” the father says, taking a moment to twiddle his mustache. “you curse, you’ve gotten in fights, you’ve been suspended three times in a span of two weeks, and you’ve just gotten a dui. a dui, josh. do you know why that scares us?”

josh rolls his eyes, and, as much as one can do, aggressively sits down. “because driving high isn’t safe, and i-“

“you can’t do those things on your medication,” his mother interrupts. “you could have wrecked. you could have killed yourself, everyone in that car, and some people in another car. but you also could have died without any of that happening. it breaks our hearts to know that you would risk dying just to try these things,”

josh cracks his knuckles, knee starting to bounce. “stop saying that. you don’t care,” his eyes fall to the ground. defense, defense, defense. what can he do? think, josh, think...

“go to your room and pack,” his mother says, voice lower. 

josh, eyes wide, meets her eyes. “i thought it started-“

the mother’s eyes harden, and the father leaves the room, making his way toward the kitchen. “you leave in three days. we only told you now because we knew you’d react this way. we know you’re tactics- three days isn’t enough to call a friend, find a house, or form some sort of plan to run away. now go. pack,”

josh stands immediately, making his way to his room, slamming the door. the old him would be fighting back tears.

josh doesn’t cry now. 

josh hasn’t cried in years.

and the tears from the fits don’t count.

\- - -

thunk

slam

“there’s going to be two other boys there. the guardian will be holding a sign. look for it. and josh-“ she grabs his sleeve just as he starts to turn. “we love you,”

he shoulders her, scoffing, and walks into the airport. his head is bombarded with noise- jesus, it’s loud in here.

where does he- oh. yeah, that’s it.

a wiry man, probably about 5’7, holding a sign that’s too big for him. the sign reads ‘avalor boarding school, from each his best’ in big, neon green lettering.

two boys sit behind him, hunched over a device one is holding.

one is completely bald- not even eyebrows. he’s holding the device, and the black case of the device almost blends in with his skin color.

the other has a big ugly scar traveling across the side of his head, disrupting the hair growth. his black hair has an ungodly amount of product in it, and the pitiful stubble on his chin is a stark contrast from the white of his face.

all in all, josh assesses... retards. need to be avoided at all costs.

josh approaches the man, who smiles when he gets close enough. “are you joshua?” he asks, annoyingly happy.

josh involuntarily rolls his eyes. jesus, he didn’t even know that was possible. this guy just brings it out of him. “yeah, that’s me,” he replies.

the man sets his sign down, then bounces on his toes. “great! it’s about twenty minutes till the flight, so by the time we get there they should be boarding. let’s roll, gentlemen!” he says, walking away with too-straight posture.

he lets the two retards go in front of him, in hopes of avoiding their conversation. no such luck, though, when they’re caught in the security lines.

hair product turns around, smiling like a little shit would. “what’s your name? you haven’t spoken the whole time you’ve been here,” he says. 

josh, once again, is overtaken by the movements of his eyes. the kid even talks like a retard, sounding like he’s got cotton in his mouth or something.

he has two options, with a possible third. he can reply, and be sucked into some stupid conversation (the possible option being he replies and is ignored), or just ignore them, and eventually be left alone.

he chooses the latter.

“hey,” hair product says. “can you hear me?” he starts waving his hands around, and his soul leaves his body, thoughts consumed by _ashley ashley on her side time it ashley time it._

it takes him two seconds, two seconds that lasted years, to realize the guy isn’t having a seizure.

he lets out a breath, trying to steady his rapidly increasing heartbeat. breathe, breathe, it’s fine.

the next ten minutes or so is a blur- he catches a few things, though, like baldy trying to talk to him, his mouth wash getting confiscated (it wasn’t mouth wash), having to take out his piercings, walking by popeye’s.

the beat of his heart is getting bigger, louder, faster, his head is pounding. god, this hurts. head hurts, chest hurts. chest and heart. chest hurts because he’s not breathing. jesus, he’s not breathing. fuck. it’s bright. noisy, too, when did it get noisy? it’s getting a bit dimmer, blurrier, black crawling at the edge of his vision, shaky handsASHLEY ASHLEY ASHLEY ON HER SIDE SHES DOWN ASHLEY FELL HELP HER ASHLEY

and, like a switch had been flicked without a second though, his lights go out.

\- - -

he wakes up slowly, head pounding, arm asleep and knee aching. his mouth is dry as hell. he wants to go to sleep.

“joshua, we’re about to board. can you stand?”

what kind of question. he can. he can stand. he just wants to go back to sleep.

his arm starts to get pins and needles in it, and he... he’s at the airport. leaving for a boarding school, right, he needs his things... backpack, suitcase. where is it?

a man... the man with the sign, catches his attention. “jordan and-“

jordan? why is jordan here... is jordan coming with him?

he had a fit.

god, he’s an idiot. 

he looks at the two retards holding his stuff. baldy has his backpack and hair product is holding his suitcase (it has wheels, dumbass).

he stands, reaching out-

he sits. ok, try again. he stands-

he sits.

“that’s okay, i can help you,” the man says. he takes josh’s arm around his shoulder, forcing josh to put his body weight on him.

somehow they make it on the plane perfectly fine (save for the flight attendant insisting he needs a wheelchair or a disabled seat), and josh slumps into his seat before realizing where they were. 

“first class?” he mutters. the man taps a screen in front of him a few times before taking out some headphones.

“yes,” he says, twiddling his mustache. even though he’s already half asleep, he still gets pissed off at that. “you’re going to a very luxurious school, you know,”

oh, hey. there’s the other half of that sleep.

\- - -

he’s woken up by a jolt, and with a quick, wide-eyed look out the window, he realizes they’re landing.

the school isn’t too bad. the girl who shows him around is wearing a hijab, and his first thought is her being a terrorist. god, he can already hear his father yelling at him in japanese for that thought. 

he remembers the first time it happened. he beat up a kid for no reason, the kid happened to be black, and everyone thought he beat him up just because he was black. 

his father thought he would yell at him in english for twenty minutes, then switch to japanese for a good bit, talking about how oppressed groups should not fight each other.

honestly, the whole scolding went through one ear and out the other. it was just cool to find out his father spoke japanese.

“- will you need help finding your room? they’re numbered,” hijab lady says. 

they’re at a desk, and she’s holding an office folder out to him. this is probably some more paper work-type stuff. 

he nods. “i’ll be fine,”

he takes a couple steps before realizing he has no idea where he is. and so, with that thought in mind, he keeps moving.

his footsteps echo, the wheels on his suitcase are making that annoying rolling sound, something in his backpack is clanking against something else, and he is very conscious of his breathing right now.

he finds a sign next to a staircase. 

<—  
ELEVATOR  
CAFETERIA  
CLASSES A-C  
—>  
FRONT DESK  
AUDITORIUM  
GYMNASIUM  
ARENA  
CLASSES D-F  
^ ROOMS 200-500

ok. he remembers his room number, 246. someone told him that along the way. 

he punches the handle of the suitcase down with a satisfying smack, which echoes off the big, pristine, but most importantly pretentious, walls.

he hauls the case up the carpeted stairs. are carpeted stairs a good idea for a school? maybe they just have really good cleaning services.

212... 238... 246. there we go.

he goes to open the door, but it’s locked. he doesn’t have a key. great. perfect, this is-

“sorry! i just locked it behind me without thinking. are you my roommate? oh, i already claimed the bed on the right. you have the one that’s right under the a.c. i can’t stand being cold during the night. or the day. i just hate being cold in general, it-“

“oh, fuck me,” josh mutters, shouldering past the guy. “just shut up already,”

\- - -


	2. Introductions and Annoyances (mostly the latter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mhm mhm

josh kicks his suitcase under his bed, which comes up to his ribs. what kind of bed is that high up? 

he throws his backpack on the bed with an aggravated sigh, before remembering his roommate.

he turns around to size him up. starting from the top... a helmet. some kind of green foam padding, like the things you had to wear at birthday parties when you’d get on that beam and try to hit each other off with those sticks.

it has some stickers on it. from what he can see on the front, there’s nirvana, green day... and frank sinatra. ok. weird mix, but whatever. maybe his roommate won’t be fucking awful if they can talk about music.

under the helmet, his hair is wild, sticking out in every direction. but josh can’t really see much of that. further down, he has a scar through his eyebrow, big eyes, big nose, and- a moving mouth. ah, he’s talking.

“- and you should open that packet. it has a lot of stuff in it, like your student i.d., the rulebook, and- oh! you have to fill this thing out, like, we can go in other people’s rooms, and when we go in there we have to know if they’re gonna, like, have a seizure, or something sudden like that, and what you do in case of that, so if-“

“you love listening to yourself talk, don’t you,” josh states, tearing apart the packet. there’s the student i.d., a stack of papers, a rule book, and the thing his roommate was talking about. 

he turns back to his roommate, whose face is slightly more red than before. “sorry?” his roommate says. “i just talk a lot. to be fair, you look like you don’t talk to people so they’ll think you’re cool. i’m just making up for the silence,”

josh sighs, filling out the information sheet. 

‘what happens?’

josh wrinkles his nose. 

“are you confused about that too?” his roommate asks. “here, i went and got some help with it,” he goes over to his bed, snatching a piece of paper off it. “so the first one, they’re asking for, like, diagnoses, sort of. just whatever the fit is called, i guess. the second-“

josh eyes the rest of the questions before cutting him off. “yeah, got it from there,”

‘what happens?’

he looks around for a second, before finding a pen in the packet he was given. 

he sighs, a small sigh, and writes ‘panic attack’.

‘should medication be administered?’

no.

‘is there someone that should be called?’

no.

‘what is the procedure that needs to be followed for this?’

josh pauses. the procedure... he clicks his pen a couple of times before putting it back down on the paper.

leaving me alone.

“we have to put these on the inside of the door,” his roommate says. “cause, you know, it’s for the people who come in here. oh, we should probably read each other’s, since... you know,” he finishes, making an awkward gesture with his hands.

josh furrows his brow. “yeah,” he says, sarcastically. “got it,”

they exchange papers, and before the paper even touches his hands his roommate is talking. goddamn, this guy never shuts up.

“i have a lot of these actually, like i have... i don’t know exactly, they just happen regularly. seeing seizures for the first time can-“

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. of course they put him with the epileptic guy. they saw he has ‘experience’, or fucking, SOMETHING. he can’t, he’s gotta leave. gotta go somewhere. he can’t stay here, he’s gotta GET OUT, get OUT, or ashley. ashley, ashley. 

static. ringing, louder and louder.

static.

“-you alone’. i mean, obviously all panic attacks are different, but i don’t think you should be left alone in one. when i used to get them my mom would just talk to me until i was fine again, so i’m just going to try that and, you know, see if it works. if it does, great, if it doesn’t, i mean, i’m gonna look like an idiot. but whatever. also i’m guessing the panic attack thing happens regularly? i mean, mine was from anxiety, but i don’t really have it anymore. unless you-“

“you can shut up now,” josh croaks. when did he get on the ground? doesn’t matter, though, the ground is cold and he’s sweating. it’s nice. his head is pounding though. the kind of pounding from the heart where your vision vibrates just that tiny amount.

his roommate stands up. “is this your alone time? or do you want some water? you wanna stay on the floor, or-“

“i can manage,” josh says, sitting up. “also, it’s ‘alone time’ now.” he tries to stand, but his body thinks better of it. so he stays on the ground, leaning up against... the wall. specifically the wall connecting to a window, a.k.a., a nice, cool wall.

his roommate hums. then goes right. back. to. talking.

“we never introduced ourselves,” he says. “i’ve just been calling you ‘stupid man’ in my head, cause the name seems fitting, but i don’t think that’s your real name. i’ll go first- my name’s brendon. brendon urie. urie is spelled with a ‘u’, by the way, as in u-r-i-e. not something like y-o-u-r-i-e, or even something stupid like y-o-u-r-y. actually, that-“

“that,” he pauses. “is a long introduction for a name,” josh says, smirking a bit. in a really weird way, this guy- brendon, is kind of growing on him. “i’m josh,”

“mm. josh. actually, now that i think about it, i don’t think i’ve met anyone named josh. isn’t that weird? isn’t josh supposed to be a, like, super common ‘white dude’ type name? or, i guess you aren’t white, but whatever. i had a black friend named hunter and i was like ‘woah, white dude name on a black guy’, so it’s like-“

“you know, you don’t need to tell a whole fuckin’ story every time you talk,” josh interrupts. “am i gonna have to interrupt you to get you to stop talking every time?”

brendon shrugs, humming. “probably. you want to talk about it?”

“talk about what?”

“the panic attack,”

josh shrugs, standing up, feeling victorious when he manages to stand up smoothly. “happens randomly. i can’t control it,”

brendon nods, but lets his stare remain on him. “i just thought it was weird, like as soon as i mentioned my seizures you hardcore zoned out. any correlation?”

josh, for a microsecond, realizes he has two options. one- get aggressive, maybe start a fight, and get them in separate rooms. which is what he definitely wants. but from what he saw at the airport, brendon seems a good couple hundred steps up from the other roommates he could get stuck with. option two- he shrugs it off, and let’s it bother him for the whole year here.

an unforeseen third pops up-

open up. tell him. talk about it. 

**no.**

he shrugs. “i told you, i can’t control it,”

brendon hums. “okay... you still need to know about my seizure stuff, though,”

josh nods. he already knows, though. almost any kind of seizure, really, he knows.

“so i mostly get drop seizures, where either the muscles in my neck give out or randomly i just, like, take a dive into the ground. the head one just looks like i’m nodding my head, and the other i just- i sorta just- like, i drop it like it’s hot, but face first. just, thunk, on the ground. that’s why i have to wear the helmet. uh, but they happen a lot, but they’re unpreventable. like, i get them daily,”

“i get these called... mayo, my, micro-“

“myoclonic?” josh supplies. 

“yeah. wait, do you know about this stuff?”

josh nods. 

open up.

**no.**

a beat. two beats. an awkward stare, the hum of the a.c.

“okay. well, i get myoclonic seizures, get all, herky-jerky in the morning, and i have grand-mal seizures. those don’t happen often though... and you know what to do with all that?”

josh nods again.

open up.

**no.**

“cool. i guess they put us together on purpose? or it’s just weird luck,”

josh nods.

open up.

**no.**

\- - -


	3. Why Be Friendly When You Can Be

“do you have any friends here? oh! what state did you come from? did you have any friends back home?”

it’s dark out, and the choir of cicadas can barely be heard in the distance. the nasty yellow light from the street lamps outside seep in through the slightly parted shades of their window, making lines across their floor and brendon’s bed. it reminds josh of prison, not like he’s ever been there.

in an hour they have dinner, then an assembly. him and brendon have just been sitting and talking for the last several hours, and it’s not all bad. brendon’s easy to talk to.

“uh, no,” he finally answers. “yeah, no- no friends here. um... i came from ohio, and yeah i have friends back there,”

brendon hums, biting at his fingernails. “i have a friend here. he used to be a friend-of-a-friend, until all three of us started hanging out. he has tourette’s, so that’s why he’s here,”

josh nods, about to talk about an old neighbor who used to have tourette’s when brendon’s tone switches suddenly.

“my brother’s in a cult,”

josh quirks an eyebrow- cults are always interesting. there was one back in ohio that made national news. one of his old friends was in it. as initiation, they had to get a tattoo and kill a dog. it was mostly just for the weird kids, until one of them murdered their little brother and they all tried to make a sacrifice out of it. since one of them filmed it they all got arrested. he remembers watching that video and seeing his old friend there, the look on his face, the blood on his hands. he almost puked.

“they’re summoning demons and stuff. my brother says it’s working, they’ve got three chained up in this shed out in the woods. he showed me a video. one of them had half of a body, one didn’t have a face, the other had organs falling out of it’s mouth. he gave me instructions,”

brendon pauses, fumbling for his bag, pulling out a crumbled piece of paper.

“he wanted me to summon one here. he said that there’s a demon watching me  
right now, and they’ll know if i don’t try. he said he’s gonna hurt me if i don’t try. i don’t know what to do man,” brendon nods his head a couple of times before resting it in his hand. “my brother is weird,”

josh eyes the paper. “what’s on there?” he asks before snatching it.

1\. DRAW PICTURE ON GROUND  
2\. HAVE SACRIFICE  
3\. TAKE OUT MIRROR  
4\. BURN INCENSE  
5\. LIGHT CANDLES  
6\. SAY CHANT

josh wrinkles his nose. “i wouldn’t trust that. i lost a friend to a cult, he got obsessed and stuff. and who the fuck writes in all caps?”

brendon sighs, nodding again before throwing himself back on his bed. “i don’t know what to do. my brother, he’s... i don’t know. i’m gonna hate myself for saying this, but i’m curious,”

josh raises an eyebrow. curious? his friend was curious, now he’s in a mental ward, going on three months. “it’s not going to work. demons and shit like that- doesn’t exist,”

he sits back up, crossing his legs. “okay, hear me out. they don’t exist, so i can do the whole... ritual, or whatever, and i won’t get hurt,” brendon nods, rubbing at his neck. “i can do it, and then afterwards take a pic, get back home, and show it to my brother. i’ll tell-“

“or,” josh interrupts. “you could set it up, take the picture, and take it back down,”

brendon groans. “i just... ok, fuck it. after this whole assembly thing, i’ll do it. you don’t have to look. i’ll bring my friend over, he’s really into stuff like this. and then... yeah,”

josh rolls his eyes. “have fun dying. what’s your ‘sacrifice’ anyway?”

brendon turns to his bag, straining to reach it, and pulls out a plastic bag. “pizza.” he says, dangling the bag in front of his face.

josh sighs. “jesus christ,”


	4. uuuuhhh ummmmmmuhhh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> napping and knapping

josh likes his showers hot. very, very hot. at home, he’s always showered last so he can use as much hot water as he wants. here, it’s not a problem. so far, that’s been the only good thing going for him.

the assembly was shit. it was just like any other school- behave, listen to the teachers, respect others. sure, there was a little more... special things. letting them know that if any bullying happens, security guards will take care of it, not teachers who don’t care. no wheelchair races. no fights. they aren’t afraid to tackle kids.

brendon went off to find his friend, leaving josh alone. he didn’t mind. being alone isn’t a problem for him anymore. the problem starts when he has to sit by a retard who keeps drooling on himself. 

when the assembly let out, he practically ran back here. when brendon didn’t show after ten minutes, he decided to shower. and lo, here he is. showering.

as soon as all the soap buds are down the drain and the water is cut off, he hears the door open, as well as some really muffled voices. apparently, the walls and doors here are insanely thick. after half-heartedly drying off, brushing his teeth, and slipping on some underwear, he takes a breath before opening the door.

“josh! this is my roommate josh. josh, this is ryan and jon. jon as in j-o-n, not j-o-h-n. i always make sure to ask when i meet any johns, because-“

“i get it,” josh says, cutting him off.

_slap, whistle._ “i’m- mm- ryan. that’s jon,”

jon waves at him.

josh waves back.

ryan whistles, and brendon laughs at him. josh raises an eyebrow.

“did you just wave back at me?” jon asks, sounding angry. that’s when josh notices the cane.

fuck, he just waved at a blind guy. and he pissed him off.

“uh... sorry?”

_whistle._ “yeah, you better be,” brendon says defensively, and ryan puts a hand on his leg, the universal sign for ‘calm down’.

jon smiles. “i’m just kiddin’. i don’t wear sunglasses so a lot of people don’t realize. i like to mess with ‘em,”

josh makes an affirmative ‘ah’, before pulling out some clothes. old, ratty black jeans and a star wars- wait. he throws the clothes back in the drawer, opting for some pajama pants and his mom’s john denver shirt (it’s soft as hell).

“where was i?” brendon asks. 

“uh-“ _slap_ “you were at the- cello! at the part about... what were you- ouch- talking about?” ryan says lazily.

brendon shrugs, looking out the window for a moment.

josh twists around, hefting himself onto his bed and getting a good look at ryan and jon.

ryan’s hair is greased this way and that- it’s messy with too much product. he’s got a shirt on with some random band on it, and some loose-fitting jeans. he’s barefoot- josh subconsciously eyes the shoes sitting by the door.

jon’s hair is shaggy, but it suits him. he isn’t wearing any sunglasses, but now that he looks a little closer he can see his eyes don’t focus on anything. he’s wearing a plain blue t-shirt with a pair of old jean shorts and flip flops. jesus christ. 

his eyes flick back to ryan when he makes a sudden movement- his head jerking to the side. his stomach leaps for a second. but there isn’t anything else. no more seizing. he does shrug his shoulders, but no more... that.

_whistle_ “so does he know?” ryan asks. head jerk. snap 

“oh, right,” brendon nods. “ryan has tourette’s, he makes these-“

“i mean about your... situation,” ryan says, doing a flippant hand gesture.

brendon furrows his eyebrows, and ryan sighs.

“your brother,” ryan clarifies.

“oh,” brendon draws out in a long sigh. “yeah, i told him. he’s just gonna ignore us though,”

josh takes that as a cue to take out his mp3, turn around, and bury himself underneath his blanket.

he falls asleep to the sweet sound of some heavy metal band his friend downloaded onto here. he doesn’t even like them. the drummer is shit.


	5. Oh Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i had a dream like this once, right?

“josh,” the deer whispers at him.

josh sits there, petrified, unable to move. his legs are trapped. there’s glass in his hair. there’s blood everywhere. his mouth moves, but no words come out.

“josh,” it whispers again.

“i’m sorry,” he finally gets out, a hoarse whisper. “i’m sorry,” he chokes. tears stream down his face.

“josh!”

he shoots up, shaking the glass out of his hair. only, no glass. no blood, either. and, most favorably, no talking deer.

brendon is standing a foot away, hand retracted. “are you okay?” he whispers.

the room is pitch black. he can barely make out brendon’s face. 

he rubs his face. “yeah. yeah, i’m fine,”

there’s a pause while josh tries to gather himself. it’s awkward, mostly for brendon. josh is trying to stop shaking.

“the ritual didn’t work, like you said. there’s a slice of pizza left if you want it,” brendon says, breaking the silence. 

josh looks over at the window, but his eyes are drawn to the floor, where markings can barely be made out on the floor, illuminated by the weak moonlight. 

“why didn’t you take it down yet?” josh asks. he just wants all this satan shit to be gone.

brendon shrugs, trudging over to his bag. “superstition? i don’t know. i’ll get rid of it in the morning,” he pulls out the last piece of pizza.

“i never said i was going to eat that,” josh points out.

brendon shrugs again. “eh. i feel like you need it right now,” 

dammit. he’s right.

josh reaches out, grabbing the snack from him. “what time is it?”

brendon hums, dragging what looks like a watch over to the window. “uh...” he pauses, staring intently at the watch. “about one o’ clock,”

josh’s groan is muffled by the pizza in his mouth. “why’d you wake me up? it’s late,”

brendon shuts the blinds, plunging the room into definite pitch-blackness and throws the watch back into his bag. “honestly...” he pauses, and josh can hear the slight confusion in his voice when he ends with, “i don’t know,”

josh rolls his eyes. 

there’s a nice moment where there’s no talking, just brendon getting into his bed, taking off his helmet and adjusting himself. if the room wasn’t pitch-black, josh would be able to see brendon’s rat nest that he calls ‘hair’.

“you’re nicer when you’re tired,” brendon says.

“fuck off,” he responds automatically, not even meaning it.

josh turns away, pizza gone, and closes his eyes. has he been being nice? he’s too tired to question his being right now. another problem for another day.

he sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> if you’re reading this you a true comrade.


End file.
